


give in to joy

by MeansToOffend (goodmorning)



Series: Pick Me Up (Again) [6]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018-2019 NHL Season, Edmonton Oilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 00:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17591387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorning/pseuds/MeansToOffend
Summary: "Leon is absolutely in despair about how utterly fucking stupid this team is."





	give in to joy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14059158) by [MeansToOffend (goodmorning)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorning/pseuds/MeansToOffend). 



It’s almost a year since he and Connor started dating, and Leon is still incredibly, impossibly happy that it ever happened, much less that it still is.

That said, he’s absolutely in despair about how utterly fucking stupid this team is.

Nearly a year, and he and Connor have made no attempts to hide their relationship - cuddling on the plane, visiting over the summer, Connor giving him a birthday puck bouquet, for fuck’s sake - yet they’re still blissfully oblivious. Stromer knew Connor well enough to draw conclusions, but Stromer is gone now, and Spoons isn’t him.

Leon’s not really surprised, though. The league is full of guys who talk the talk, say they’re fine with the inclusion of men who like men, but Leon thinks they assume the players they’re encouraging are kids, that it never occurs to them that men who like men may already be included, that they play alongside them every night. Connor was just barely fifteen when You Can Play was founded; they really should realise kids grow up. But part of that lack of realisation, he suspects, is discomfort, whether secret or overt, mild or downright toxic.

He doesn’t think anyone on the team has said anything derogatory near him, though sometimes when he’s not focusing English flows past him, and sometimes slang evades him completely even when he’s trying. He doesn’t think Connor has heard any either, because Connor would have told him, like he did about the time words were had across a faceoff circle, the linesman turning a deaf ear and Connor himself putting on his most Connor-y, blankly disapproving face.

Anyway, he doesn’t think the rest of the Oilers are ignorant out of hate, just that the possibility has genuinely never occurred to them. And this, in and of itself, is what presents the problem the two of them are facing now: the guys keep throwing dates at Connor.

All of them are tall and fit with hair in the honey-strawberry-chocolate range. Disturbingly, they’re starting to look more like Leon - at least, a beardless Leon with some of the harsher corners smoothed out. Then again, maybe this means the team are subconsciously noticing what they refuse to consciously acknowledge.

It’s possible he’s being too hard on them. It’s not like he and Connor have ever kissed in front of any of them, though he suspects Connor wouldn’t be the type for public affection even if he weren’t the hockey media’s McJesus. Either way, it’s not particularly easy to feel sorry for them when he and Connor are drowning in all the women sent Connor’s way by apparently well-meaning teammates who just can’t take a hint or twelve.

All the conversations with the women go the same way - Connor introduces himself (awkwardly), shakes hands (awkwardly), then leans in (surprisingly smoothly) and murmurs, “My friends don’t know, but I’m actually in a relationship right now, sorry.” And they, mostly good sports, respond by playing along, feigning interest in the conversation until the guys lose theirs.

The conversation with the team, on the other hand, doesn’t happen until mid-December. It’s a one-game road trip, to Vancouver and back again, but they have time to go out and feel sorry for themselves after an uninspiring loss to the Canucks. They were outshot and outchanced at every turn, shooting themselves in the foot with too many penalties which, coupled with their abysmal penalty kill and the fact that Connor came out of it with just one assist, means it’s the perfect storm for an angry McCaptain to finally get his grievances off his chest.

When Klef gets up to unsubtly drag Connor towards yet another female Leon lookalike, the snap happens. Connor plants his feet, clears his throat, and says, “Enough,” scowling so hard Leon thinks he might actually hurt himself. Nobody says anything for a long time, the team looking quiet and in some cases slightly terrified. Leon is barely able to keep from laughing with the schadenfreude before Connor finally seems to realise that he has to use his words, ones other than ‘get pucks in deep’ or ‘play our game.’ “I didn’t go home with Mary, in Nashville last year,” he says, and Nuge scowls at Leon. “None of you know my type.” Leon sends him a look which might or might not be slightly pleading. “Except Drai,” Connor corrects, and Nuge slumps a little.

Connor sighs, scowl softening to a frown. “I can pick up by myself. Your helping isn’t helpful. So enough.”

The guys nod at him, some of them muttering apologies, seemingly trying to be the quietest, like they don’t want to admit, even to themselves, that they feel guilty.

Leon, on the other hand, mostly feels turned on, because despite Connor’s constant off-ice awkwardness, he’s actually just as confident and competent in bed as he is with skates on his feet and the other kind of stick in his hand. A little bossy, maybe, but Leon’s a big fan of communication and he’s always happy to take cues.

Connor seems to think he’s solved it, but Leon has a lot less faith, and he’s sadly proven correct over the next three weeks by the whispers that stop every time one of them steps into the room, by the constant glances of their teammates trying to watch Connor without obviously staring. The room is broken as hell, and reeling off seven losses in nine games just seems to prove it.

Connor looks tired, too tired, so Leon tells him, “I’ll handle it.” And when the team boards the plane in San Jose on their anniversary morning, Leon does.

He tangles his fingers into Connor’s rat’s-nest depression curls and kisses him like their lives, their sanity, their team depends on it, and Connor kisses back, fierce and terrified and relieved.

Somewhere on the plane there are cheers, and whistles, and the sounds of money changing hands, but Connor’s mouth is on his, hands on his hips; Leon hears none of it.

**Author's Note:**

> \- They definitely made friends with at least half these women and now Leon has a fuckload of pen pals to keep up with for the both of them.  
> \- Title from "Stab" by Thee Attacks which was apparently last season's Oilers goal song.  
> \- Connor McDavid's general hygiene atm definitely smacks of depression hair to me.  
> \- An unexpected visitor disrupted the schedule a bit so here's hoping I can get back on track?


End file.
